(I do hope my latest love song isn't drenched in too much sentimentality)

I thought I could afford her by mail order – she’s my Living Doll

I got the mag to send me bendy Wendy – their best Blow-Up Doll

She’s a gummy granny with a fanny and a real bum-hole

She’s my fornicating and fellating Blow-Up Doll.

I thought I’d better line her sweet vagina back at our hotel

But I overdid the lube with three full tubes of KY gel

When I went to grope she shot like soapy bats shoot out of hell

Through the door and down the stair to scare the clientele.

Take a look at her hair;

It’s real and if you don’t believe what I say just feel;

I ordered it curly in red

To match with her head

And under her pits as well.

I’d started my French kisses when the missus caught me on a roll

She’d come in from the garden, saw my hard-on like a barber’s pole

I thought she might have hit me, had a fit, she might have lost control

But simply went out shopping with my whopping Bendy Doll.

Take a look at her hair;

It’s real and if you don’t believe what I say just feel;

And it’s so quick to grow,

She never says’ “No”

There’s even a doll who’ll squeal.

(“Fill me; thrill me, Big Boy”)

I had a slug of whisky so felt frisky for the rabbit hole

I blew into the nozzle a colossal breath of alcohol

But things got rather dire when she caught fire from touching lighted coals

Which tended to portend the end of Wendy, Blow-Up Doll;

Which tended to portend the end of Wendy, Blow-Up Doll.